A Hero's Villain
by ChubbyCubby23
Summary: Not every teenager has a loving family to go home to after school; and, sometimes, the bully that beats you up every day has it so much worse than you could ever think. These are some things that Alfred F. Jones - the "genius" student of One World High - is going to learn over the next school year. But, learning how to be a hero to his own villain...that's the most important thing.
1. When Life Trips You Up

Alfred Jones sprinted through the crowded hallways of One World High School, his books clutched protectively to his chest. He dodged past groups of other students that were loitering around before their classes, not even caring about the looks he was getting. _Almost there...I'm almost there!_ A relieved smile came to the American's face as he caught sight of his math class's door at the end of the hall. _Yes! I'm gonna make it without running into-_ Alfred gasped as he was suddenly tripped up, falling hard on the floor. He skidded across the cold surface, his books flying from his grasp.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Alfred. You've been avoiding me, da*?" a smug voice taunted from behind the fallen blonde teen, the voice's thick Russian accent pronouncing certain words in a - if not for the situation - funny way.

_Crap on a cracker... _Alfred winced as he got to his knees, glaring up at the figure that had tripped him. "Piss off," he muttered, readjusting his slightly askew glasses.

Ivan Braginski pouted mockingly, picking up the blonde student's math book. "That isn't a very nice way to greet someone, Alfred...Especially since we haven't seen much of each other in a while, da?" he replied in that same smug tone, opening the book up and flipping through the pages with feigned interest.

"Hey, give that back! I bet you can't even read that, you illiterate commie!" Alfred demanded, scrambling back to his feet. He may not be physically strong, since he was pretty scrawny, but Alfred knew he could beat the Russian in a verbal confrontation. He wasn't considered a gifted student for nothing!

The larger teen's expression darkened, and Alfred knew he had hit a nerve.

"It's just a bunch of worthless information, anyway. Why would I waste my time on this?" Ivan growled, fingering the corner of a page. A dark smile formed on his face, his odd purple eyes glittering with bad intentions. "And you shouldn't either, Alfred...Besides, you are smart enough, da?" he chuckled, tearing the page down the middle, smiling at the sound of ripping paper.

Alfred gaped at the other teen for a moment as he continued to destroy the American's math book. "Hey! Cut that out! I need that, you stupid jerk off!" he exclaimed, making a lunge for the shredded book.

Ivan raised it above his head, out of the blonde's reach, a cruel grin on his face. "You don't need _this_! You're the school's little genius, remember?" he sneered, pushing down on the shorter teen's head with his free hand.

"I'll kick your fat ass, Ruski! I know kung fu!" Alfred shouted, throwing wild punches that didn't come anywhere close to hitting their mark.

The hall seemed to go silent at that statement, the other students suddenly becoming interested in the little tussle. It happened quite often, really, but they always knew shit was going to happen when someone was stupid enough to call the Russian bully fat. Unless it was another bully of the school, such as Gilbert Beilschmidt, such an action would usually earn the foolish student a trip to the hospital. The bullies of the school stuck to their own territories, and hardly ever interacted with each other.

The Russian chuckled darkly, his eyes narrowing at the insult, and pushed Alfred back easily. "That line sounds very familiar...When have I heard you say it before? Ah, I remember now! You said the exact same thing before I knocked you out cold with one punch," Ivan recalled in a smug tone, tossing the ruined school book to the floor as he advanced on the American.

Alfred cringed at the memory, or, at least, what he _could _remember from that incident. "Y-Yeah, well, that won't happen this time! I've been practicing...," he muttered defiantly, his confidence quickly shrinking as the much larger student continued to approach him. Yeah, he'd been practicing...by watching old kung fu movies in his alien PJ's.

Ivan smirked as he stopped in front of the slightly quivering American, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. "Let's see how smart you are after I knock your head into the wall a few times, da?"

O_h, shit...Oh, _**shit**_! He's gonna kill me! Not the face, not the faaaace!_ Alfred begged mentally, panicking as Ivan raised a fist to hit him.

"Stop right there! I will _not _tolerate brawling in _my _school!" a booming German voice yelled, the owner of said voice forcing his way through the crowd of by-standing teenagers.

Both Alfred and Ivan spun around at the commanding voice that came from down the hallway. Principal Adalhard Beilschmidt* stood glowering at them as the once large crowd of students hastily made their way to conveniently remembered classes.

_Thank you, Principal B! You just saved me from getting crippled for the rest of my life!_ Alfred thought gratefully, breathing a sigh of relief. He honestly felt like hugging the grouchy man in a display of his gratitude, but he refrained. If he did, though, he _would _be crippled for the rest of his life.

"Mr. Braginski, Mr. Jones...My office, _now_," the older man ordered out in a clipped tone, his sharp blue eyes piercing through the two like a hawk. A very pissed off, killer hawk.

Ivan sent a cold glare at Alfred, shoving the blonde out of his way as he trudged into the German's office.

Alfred flipped the other boy off when his back was turned, gulping when the Principal gave him a pointed look.

* * *

"How many times is this?" the blonde German demanded, leaning against his desk as the two teens settled down into the chairs that were set up in his office. "You have both been told time and again, _no _fighting on school grounds!"

Neither of them spoke, both avoiding looking at either the Principal or each other.

"How many times?" Mr. Beilschmidt hissed, his already thin patience running out.

Alfred squirmed in his seat and licked his lips nervously, his usually confident voice abandoning him in the face of the Principal's outrage.

Ivan muttered something in a tone too soft to hear, not lifting his gaze from the ugly carpeting in the small office.

"So that we can hear, Mr. Braginski," Adalhard uttered sharply, his eyes narrowing as he drummed his calloused fingers on the wooden desk top.

"Two hundred and ninety-eight incidents...this year," the Russian spat, seething in his chair.

"More than one hundred of those incidents having included Mr. Jones, the rest with various other students. All of these encounters were stated to have been instigated by _you_, Mr. Braginski," the Principal said, moving his hand to tap at a large file on his desk.

Alfred's blue eyes widened considerably at this revelation, shocked at the information. _I knew he was a bullying jackass, but seriously?! Almost three hundred times, and that's just this year!_ he thought in bewilderment, glancing at the beige haired teenager. While it _was _true that the Russian started most of the fights that they got into, Alfred had also been known to poke the bear, as it were. _Should I own up to that?_ he thought for a moment before quickly shooting down the idea. _Screw that! Let the bastard fry for it._

"I'm going to have to call both of your parents in..._again_. We'll need to discuss this disruptive behavior from the both of you," Mr. Beilschmidt stated sternly, giving the two a withering look. "To go along with your regular punishment of six weeks detention, I'm going to do something a bit unorthodox with you two. If you don't start getting along with one another, we're going to have some very serious problems, do you understand?" he growled.

Alfred and Ivan both remained silent, but they nodded in acknowledgement.

"Mr. Jones, you're a straight A student, but you lack motivation and tend to turn your work in late. You goof off during classes, and though it doesn't seem to be effecting your studies, I do _not _approve of your attitude. Mr. Braginski, you are failing almost every one of your classes, and you show no signs of improving on your own. You have shown up to school drunk on several occasions, you smoke on school grounds, and you torment your schoolmates; none of which are acceptable!" the German man rumbled, drumming his fingers against the desk top once more.

"So...What's our other punishment?" Alfred ventured, twiddling his thumbs in an effort to keep calm.

"I am going to have you, Alfred, tutor Ivan. In return, he will help get you onto one of our sports teams. Hopefully, you'll both rub off on each other in a good way and help one another. You will help Mr. Braginski with his grades, and he will keep you motivated for your own work by giving you a physical goal to achieve. I've found that a balance of physical and mental exercises works much better than just one or the other. I want you to do this until the end of the year," the Principal explained, waiting for the fallout from the teens.

Alfred and Ivan exchanged looks.

"No way!"

"Nyet*!"

"This is not up for debate! I'm not asking for you to get along like best friends, just enough to help one another!" Adalhard bellowed angrily.

Alfred groaned, slumping in his chair as he sent a glare towards the Russian next to him. _Of all the stupid, weird punishments to come up with..._

"You may both go to your lunch now, the bell rang not too long ago. I want you both back here at the end of the day, though, so that we may talk with your parents about your behavior. Your punishment will start immediately tomorrow, and I will be checking in with you both _personally_," Principal Beilschmidt ordered in his gravelly voice, waving the two boys off with a stern look.

* * *

"I hate you so much," Alfred muttered as they walked out of the Principal's office, scuffing his sneakers against the rows of lockers that lined the walls.

"You think I actually care?" Ivan snorted, rolling his eyes contemptuously.

"The only thing you care about is food, wide-load," Alfred shot back, gesturing to the larger teen's stomach.

Ivan glared at the blonde, but to Alfred's surprise, didn't do much more than that. "Just go away and annoy your little friends already. I've seen enough of you for today," he grumbled out, wishing he could pound on the American for his constant commenting on his weight. _If I punch him, though, I'll probably get suspended...and that's even worse than having to play nice with him for the rest of the year...Papa's going to kill me when he gets that call from the Principal._ Without another look at the blonde, he stormed off down the hall, in the opposite direction from the cafeteria.

"Pfft, jackass...," Alfred huffed, sticking his tongue out at the other's back as he headed into the cafeteria to meet up with his friends.

"Alfred, over here!" Arthur Kirkland, one of Alfred's friends, shouted over the din of other voices in the echoing room that was the cafeteria. He motioned the American over to a table in the corner, where their group of friends always sat. It was more commonly known at the school as "The Nerd Table".

"Hey, guys!" Alfred exclaimed as he squeezed his way through the press of teen-aged bodies that clogged up the walkways between the tables. "You would not _believe _how crappy my day has started."

"You did something stupid, got into a fight with that brutish Russian, and then got a talking to from the Principal," Arthur stated, flipping through a tattered book of old English fairy tales.

"Whoa, how'd you guess?" Alfred laughed, sitting down next to Kiku Honda, a student originally from Japan.

"Y-Yeah, we heard that you got a really bad punishment, eh...," Matthew Williams, Alfred's step brother, murmured, giving the sandy blonde a concerned look. He hated conflict, but his step brother seemed to attract it wherever he went. "It's already all over the school..."

Alfred puffed his cheeks out in annoyance, getting into his packed lunch distractedly. "Well...I have to tutor Braginski now...Until the end of the year, actually," he sighed, taking a sip of his soda. "I also have to get onto one of the sports teams, which is just stupid. It's supposed to teach us something, or whatever..."

"That is too bad, Alfred...But...maybe you can learn to deal with Ivan, yes?" Kiku spoke up shyly, pushing around some rice with a chopstick. "Think of it like a project: if you can figure him out, then he won't be a problem for you in the future. Hopefully, you can achieve the end result that is most desirable."

"Which is?" Alfred asked in a doubtful tone, eyeing the Japanese student from over his glasses. _Is Kiku seriously suggesting that I _**get along **_with Braginski?! That's like telling Batman to get along with the Joker! Or Superman with Lex Luther, or-_

"The best end result being that you can get him to stop being a bully, Alfred...It would at least be one less than before, if you can do it. Gilbert bullies people verbally, Simon* and Berwald - though I don't think Berwald takes any pleasure from bullying - have a double team of verbal and physical, and Ivan bullies physically. If you can get rid of Ivan, in the sense of bullying, then most of the students here will have much less to fear at school...," Kiku summed up, speaking in his usual soft voice. The way he said it made it sound like a battle strategy or something, but that was just the way Kiku talked, like he was always playing an RPG*.

"Hey...that's right...," Alfred murmured, his face scrunching up as he thought about his friend's idea. _It _**would **_free up a lot of people in school...They wouldn't have to worry about getting shoved into their lockers, pushed down the stairs, or smashed into the wall. Yeah...I like this idea! Well, not the whole befriending Braginski part...but it'll be worth it if I can get him to stop torturing us! I am _**so **_doing this! _

"I really don't think this is a good ide-" Arthur began to state his concerns, but was suddenly cut off by Alfred.

"I'll do it!" the sandy blonde exclaimed at the top of his lungs, nearly falling out of his seat as he made erratic hand gestures in his excitement.

"Wanker...," the British teen muttered, glaring at his much louder friend.

"Ah, yes...That is good to hear, Alfred, but we should think this through before doing anything rash," Kiku said hastily, catching on to his friend's thought process.

"I know, I'll talk to Toris! He's known Ivan for a long time, right?" Alfred blurted out, bolting from the table before the other two students could get a word in edgewise.

"Well...at least he's not going right up to Ivan saying, "Want to be pals?", but he's still acting like an idiot," Arthur grumbled, doing his best imitation of Alfred.

"Hai*...I just hope he doesn't do anything...ill thought out," Kiku murmured, gazing after the blonde worriedly.

"Um...I'm still here, guys...," Matthew whispered, sighing as he continued to go unnoticed.

* * *

Here's another story that I'm still working on the majority of, but I wanted to upload the first chapter and see what people thought of it. It's a High School AU (Yeah, I know, there are no shortage of those), but it really just popped into my head and wouldn't go away until I started writing it out. So, this will focus mainly on America and Russia, but I won't let the other characters fall to the wayside if I can help it.

The main drive for this fic was the fact that America and Russia are forced to stick together through the entire school year, whether or not they like it. It gave me room to put them in a lot of different situations and show how they react to one another's lives as they help each other out, argue, or just get to know one another. I plan on making this into a romance sort of thing, but that won't come into it until much later in the story.

I've put America into the incredibly smart, nerdy, not-so-athletic role 'cause I just like seeing him as that sort of guy in this setting. Likewise, most of his friends are also in the gifted program and are very intellectual. Russia, on the other hand, has been put into the big, not-so-smart bully role. Both characters won't stay in these casts for the whole story, and will get to grow and learn throughout the fic. Both of them are seventeen in this story; other characters' ages will be mentioned later on in the story or when they show up.

Now, I was home-schooled from 4th grade onward, so I really don't know what a typical high school is like. One World High will be relatively made up from my imagination and guessing, so I apologize if it doesn't seem quite realistic.

RPG: For those who don't know, this stands for Role Playing Game.

Adalhard Beilschmidt: The Principal of One World High School, Adalhard Beilschmidt, is Germania. I can just picture him as this hard-looking man who really actually cares for his students, and wants to see them succeed. He's also the father of Prussia and Germany.

Simon: Simon Densen, one of the main bullies of One World High School, is Denmark.

If anything about the school just seems too unrealistic, please tell me!

Translations for this chapter:

Da: "Yes" in Russian

Nyet: "No" in Russian

Hai: "Yes" in Japanese

Remember, I get these translations off the internet, so they may not always be correct.


	2. White Smoke Defensive

Toris Laurinaitis was having a surprisingly good day at school. He had done very well on several tests, he wasn't stressing out about anything and giving himself a stomachache, and he was actually getting to eat his own lunch without someone taking it from him or having it smashed into his face!

The Lithuanian boy let out a content sigh, opening up his Snapple and bringing the drink up to his lips. _Yes...Today is going to be a good day_, he allowed himself to think optimistically, letting his eyelids slide closed in his relaxation.

"Hey, Toris, can I talk to you about something?" an obnoxiously loud voice boomed right in Toris' ear, making the brunet teenager jump in surprise.

"Gyah!" Toris exclaimed as the Snapple bottle slipped from his hand and fell onto the cafeteria table, tipping over onto its side and spilling its contents right into his lap.

"Er...Sorry 'bout that," Alfred apologized sheepishly, offering the other boy several napkins that he didn't use from his own lunch.

"It's alright, Alfred. Just...don't sneak up on me like that again, please," Toris sighed, dabbing at his pants with the offered napkins. _Well, if this is the worst thing that happens today, it'll still be a pretty good day_, he reasoned to himself, trying to stay optimistic. "So...What did you want to talk to me about?"

The American teen plopped down next to the Lithuanian, a sullen look on his face. "Well...Okay, listen; you've known Braginski for a long time, right?" Alfred asked, fussing with his glasses.

"I...suppose I've known him longer than most...," Toris said slowly.

"Well...I was wondering...what you could, um, tell me about him?" Alfred asked hesitantly, fidgeting at the awkwardness of the conversation.

Toris blinked in mild surprise, brushing some of his shoulder-length hair behind his ear. "There's really not too much I can tell you, Alfred. Ivan keeps to himself most of the time, and he doesn't talk much about anything, really," he replied, balling up the used napkins and placing them on the lunch tray with his other trash.

Alfred visibly deflated at the brunet's answer. "Oh...Well, do you at least know where he hangs out at lunch? I don't think I've ever seen him in here, actually," he mused, glancing around the bustling cafeteria with curiosity.

"Um...I believe he spends his lunch hours either in the library or outside, but I don't think you should-"

"Great! Thanks, Toris!" Alfred exclaimed, leaving as suddenly as he had shown up.

"B...Bother him...," Toris mumbled out, staring after the other teen with a dumbfounded expression on his face. He let his forehead connect with a painful thud against the tabletop, his shoulders slumping.

_Today was going to be really bad, wasn't it?_

* * *

As Alfred left the cafeteria and headed outside, he trotted across the Roman-style courtyard to reach the large library that was on One World High's campus.

He was more than a little surprised - and _really_ skeptical - when Toris had said that Ivan spent his lunch hours in the library, of all places! What would an F grade delinquent, like Braginski - who spent the majority of his time in school either sleeping through classes, or sleeping through detentions - even be doing in the library? He was stunned that the Russian even knew where the building was!

Alfred slowed his pace to a walk as he reached the front of the building, climbing the few steps that were placed before the puke-green doors of the library. He slipped into the stuffy building, making sure to close the door quietly behind himself.

The fluorescent lights on the ceiling above buzzed with electric life as he passed underneath them, the continuous lull only interrupted by the occasional turn of a page or the restrained cough of someone trying not to make too much noise. While Alfred enjoyed spending time at the library reading, studying, or fiddling around with the old computers they had collecting dust at the back, he never liked the heavy silence that hung in the air like a depressing, poisonous fog.

Glancing around the main room for a brief moment, Alfred didn't see any sign of Braginski being there. No path of destruction, no sobbing or bloodied freshman, no _nothing_. It seemed completely normal in the library. Even after going upstairs, looking in the film room, and searching through every section of books he thought the Russian student could possibly be in, he hadn't seen hide nor hair of the other teenager!

Sighing in frustration, Alfred gave up on trying to find Ivan before his lunch period was up. He was just heading over to the drinking fountain, which was situated near the bathrooms on the first floor of the building, when he noticed something weird about the boys' bathroom.

Everyone was avoiding it like the plague, and Alfred could see smoke wafting out from underneath the door.

Taking his thumb off the water fountain's _'PUSH'_ button, effectively shutting off the flow of metallic-tasting water, Alfred crept closer to the bathroom door. For whatever reason, Alfred felt that he needed to sneak into the bathroom - like it was some sort of villainous lair, or dragon's den.

Gulping down the nervous burn that assaulted his throat, Alfred slowly pushed the fake wood-polished door open and slipped inside. His eyes, nose, and throat were instantly hit by a thick cloud of bitter cigarette smoke; making him shrink back against the door as he coughed, gagged, and blinked away his suddenly watery eyes.

Ivan was sitting hunched over something on the floor, his back to the tiled wall and his legs loosely crossed Indian-style. He jolted when Alfred started to gag and cough, his eyes going wide with shock as his mouth dropped open; a glowing-tipped cigarette nearly falling from his chapped lips. There was a little graveyard of spent cigarettes near his right thigh; some were crumpled up in their own ash, while others stood bent over, like crooked old men.

Alfred's deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression was completely reactionary to the other boy's shock, his blue eyes widening further when he saw what Ivan was hunched over. "A-Are you...doing _homework_?!" he blurted out, gesturing to the ragged text book on the floor and the messy notes in the Russian's lap.

Ivan immediately shoved the text book and scribbled-in notes into an old backpack, his expression quickly shifting from shocked to defensive. "The fuck do you want, Jones?" he ground out, exhaling a stream of smoke from his nose like some sort of demonic bull.

"Erm...Uh," Alfred floundered for a moment, still trying to get over the fact that he had just witnessed Braginski doing schoolwork in one of the library bathrooms. _Weird..._

The larger teen was clearly losing patience with the blonde, getting up from the floor to stand at his full, intimidating height of six-foot-four. "What. Do. You. _Want_," he growled, baring his teeth like an angry, feral dog.

Alfred couldn't help but notice that Ivan was missing a tooth - probably from hockey, or the numerous fights that he got into. "Just wanted to...talk," he said, mentally cringing when he hesitated. Hesitation could get you _killed_ with someone like Braginski...or at least get you sent to the nurse's office.

"Why would I want to do something like _that_? I don't have anything to say to you, Jones," Ivan muttered, taking another drag on his cigarette as he turned around to pry open the single window in the bathroom. The heavy cloud of smoke rushed out of the new opening like a colony of frightened rats; the atmosphere in the bathroom drastically changing from being very close and hard to breath in, to becoming sustainable for non-smoker life.

Alfred paused, his mouth open and his right index finger extended upward. _Shit...I should of actually thought of something to say before I went looking for him..._ "Uh, well...If we're gonna be working together on some stuff, I thought we should...get to know each other better?" he offered lamely, silently asking God why he was given such a brilliant mind if it couldn't stop his damn motor mouth in situations like this.

The larger teenager gave him a confused look, his head tilting to the side like a bewildered puppy. "What?" Ivan asked.

Alfred could feel his face heat up with embarrassment, and he started to scuff his sneakers against the floor, eliciting a harsh squeaking noise from the movement. "Y'know, like a...truce. If we want to get through this whole punishment thing _without _killing each other, then I think we should consider trying to get along - at least until the school year is over," he said, sounding more confident now.

Ivan seemed to consider this for a moment, leaning up against the wall. "I'm not going to be your friend, or anything stupid like that, got it? I'm only doing this to get Principal Beilschmidt off my back, da?" he replied, dropping his latest cigarette to the floor and stamping it out with a heavy boot.

Alfred shrugged, "Whatever, it's only temporary."

* * *

The rest of the school day went just like any other for Alfred. He was actually starting to feel pretty good after a while, but then he remembered that his parents were coming in to talk with the Principal.

"So...I guess I'll see you guys later?" Alfred said in a questioning tone, dragging his feet a little as the group of friends neared the Principal's office.

"We can get together for some Smash* tomorrow, alright, Alfred? I'm sorry I can't stay and wait for you, but I have to help out my 兄兄elder brother* at the restaurant tonight," Kiku replied in a soft voice, giving Alfred a sympathetic look before leaving.

"I'm afraid I can't stick around either; I've got to pick up Peter from after-school care, because Alastair* is too 'busy' to do it himself," Arthur muttered, scowling. "Good luck with your parents, though," he added, waving to both Alfred and Matthew as he headed out of the building.

Alfred sighed defeatedly, staring down the door to Principal Beilschmidt's office like it was the gateway to hell.

"Hey, Kiddo!"

Alfred jumped at the loud voice, whirling around to see his father and step-mother walking over. "Oh...Hey, Dad," he greeted less enthusiastically, managing a smile for his parents nonetheless. "Mom...Listen, I'm really sorry about this-"

"Alfie, it's okay. While I'm not exactly thrilled that you got into trouble, I'm just happy that you didn't get into an actual fight," Mrs. Jones said in a sweet tone, cutting off Alfred's well-rehearsed apology speech.

"Aw, I'm sure you woulda put up a good fight if it had come to a brawl, Alfred! Fightin' is in your blood, boy! Did I ever tell you about when your great granddad was a kid? You know he wrestled a-" Mr. Jones started to go off on one of his wild stories, which Alfred had heard hundreds of times before and knew by heart.

"Yeah, yeah; I know...He wrestled an adult bison to the ground with his bare hands, and then he grabbed its front legs and started twirling it around before he sent it flying east of the Mississippi river," Alfred finished the story in a bored tone, switching his heavy backpack to his left shoulder as the other started to feel sore from lugging it around all day. After what Braginski did to his math book, he didn't want to leave his other text books out in the open or defenseless in his locker.

"Ah...Right," Mr. Jones trailed off sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, anyway, I'm sure you would've won!"

"Pfft...Yeah, _right_," Matthew disagreed in a somewhat sarcastic tone.

"Don't be snarky, dear, especially to your father," Mrs. Jones chastised lightly, knowing that her son didn't really mean anything by it.

Matthew subtly rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying...Alfred would have gotten pummeled into the floor if it hadn't of been for the Principal stepping in to intervene," he stated, a bit of concern edging into his whispery voice.

"Hey!" Alfred protested weakly, pouting. He knew his brother was right, of course, but it was never nice to be reminded of how pathetic he was.

"Don't sell your brother short, Mattie! How do you know that he couldn't of got a solid punch in?" Mr. Jones asked, his expression similar to his son's.

"Well, Alfred doesn't even know _how_ to throw a punch, for one thing," Matthew started to explain, stopping suddenly when he saw Ivan trudging over in their direction. "And _that_ is who Alfred would be picking a fight with, for another," he finished in a low tone, gesturing toward the large teen.

Mr. Jones took a discreet look at the Russian boy, wincing as he gave a low whistle. "Whew, yeah...You'd get your ass handed to you, Alfie," he said, slinging an arm around his son's shoulders. "Hey, Matt, isn't that the Russian kid who plays on the hockey team with you?" he asked in a curious tone, raising a thin eyebrow.

"Yeah, it is," Matthew replied, shrinking in on himself a bit as Ivan stopped just short of them.

The door to the Principal's office opened, revealing the ever stern-faced Adalhard Beilschmidt. "Mr. and Mrs. Jones...," he said in that gravelly voice of his, his electric blue eyes piercingly intimidating. His gaze shifted to Ivan, a sigh nearly escaping him. "And where is your father, Ivan?" he asked.

The beige haired teenager fidgeted under the Principal's unwavering gaze, his thick fingers tightening around the single strap of his backpack. "Not here," he muttered under his breath, glaring at the floor.

Principal Beilschmidt frowned, his eyes narrowing. "Well, we'll just have to start without him, then. If you would all join me in my office, please," he rumbled, ushering the group into the other room.

"I'll just...wait out here, I guess," Matthew mumbled as he was left behind in the hallway, the door shutting right in his face.

Mr. Beilschmidt sat down at his neatly organized desk, his face set with a serious expression. "Please, take a seat," he said, gesturing to the empty chairs set up in front of his mahogany desk and against the wall. "Now, I assume that you've both been made aware of the situation, correct, Mr. and Mrs. Jones?" the Principal cleared his throat, weaving his fingers together.

"Yes, we have been informed of what happened," Mr. Jones replied in a serious voice, his care-free and joking attitude from earlier disappearing now that they were to discuss this latest incident between the two teenagers. "These two almost got into a physical fight, right?"

Adalhard nodded in confirmation. "Yes, that is correct. And, since this isn't the first altercation between them, I wanted to do something different in regards to their punishment," he said, steepling his fingers and pressing them against his dry lips for a moment.

"Oh? And what would that be?" Mrs. Jones piped up, her curly hair bouncing as she turned her head.

"I want them to help each other, and, in turn, help themselves. So, unless you object, I will be having Alfred tutor Ivan to help get his grades up; for his part, Ivan will get your son onto one of our sports teams to keep him motivated and focused on his own work," the Principal explained. "I will be checking in on their progress periodically."

"That sounds fair enough," Mr. Jones agreed, blatantly ignoring his son's pleading look for him to object against what the Principal had said.

Seeing that his kicked puppy look had gotten him nowhere, Alfred slumped in his seat with a disgruntled frown. The sandy haired blonde started to tune out what was being said as his parents continued to drone on with the Germanic Principal, so he was rather surprised when the door opened abruptly, making him jump in his seat when the brass knob collided with the wall.

Ivan had shrunk down into the chair he was sitting in, biting down hard on his lip as he forced himself to keep his eyes lowered to the floor.

"Ah...Mr. Braginski," Principal Beilschmidt greeted in a vaguely annoyed tone, "So good of you to finally join us."

"...Work held me up...," Mr. Braginski explained in a cold voice, his icy eyes scanning through the room with disinterest. "What's the idiot boy done now?" he demanded, settling his chilling gaze on his son.

Mr. Jones stood up, a friendly but wary smile on his face. "I'm sure it was nothing more than a misunderstanding between our boys, Mr. Braginski," he said, extending a hand to the other man.

The grey haired man stared at Alfred's father with a blank expression, his mouth curling into a sneer as he took the offered hand into his crushing grip. "Da, a...'misunderstanding'. _Little Vanya_* has many of those, I'm afraid. People seem to rub him the wrong way - or, perhaps, it is the other way around, hm?" he rasped through a heavily accented voice - much like Ivan's, though a great deal more rough - his tone bordering on degrading when he spoke about his son. He sounded like a man who drank heavily, and smoked just as frequently. "Did he break anything?" he asked, clapping a hand onto Ivan's shoulder, his bony fingers digging in like the talons of a predatory bird.

"Yes, unfortunately," Adalhard grumbled, giving the Russian teenager a disappointed look. "He destroyed one of Mr. Jones' text books, which the school will now have to replace."

"Don't trouble yourself with that; my son ruined it, so he'll replace it," Mr. Braginski said gruffly, his grip on Ivan's shoulder tightening with hidden anger.

"But-" Ivan started to protest, twisting around in his seat to face his father.

"безмолвие*!" Mr. Braginski barked out angrily, his cold eyes narrowing to slits. He raised his hand as if he were going to hit his son, but thought better of it in the exact same moment, smoothly transitioning the oppressive hand so that it merely patted Ivan on the head in an action that could easily be passed off as parental frustration.

Now that he was paying attention again, Alfred couldn't help but notice the way Ivan flinched under the touch of his father's hand. Which was really weird, 'cause he'd never seen Braginski _flinch_ at anything before - not even that one time he had dislocated his shoulder during hockey practice.

"Your boy can borrow whichever of Ivan's books that he needs for his classes, until Ivan can come up with the money to replace it with a new one on his own," the grey haired Russian said in a self-satisfied tone, his hand pressing down roughly on Ivan's head before he let go.

"That's quite generous of you, but we can pay to replace Alfred's book. It's no problem, really," Mrs. Jones chirped nervously, her expression worried and sympathetic.

"No, no...I _insist_," Mr. Braginski chuckled, "How else will the boy learn to not break things that are not his? He needs to figure out that there are _consequences_ to his actions."

* * *

As they were starting to drive out of One World High's parking lot, Alfred glanced out of the window in an attempt to curb his boredom. His parents were asking about how the rest of the school day went, but he instantly tuned them out, and let Matthew reply to the daily ritual of back and forth questions when something caught his eye.

Parked against the curb just outside of the school was a rusted, broken-down old truck; the minimal amount of paint still left on the vehicle had once been a baby blue, the windshield was cracked near the upper-right corner, and both side view mirrors were gone. Though the truck itself was intriguing enough, what was happening right next to it is what grabbed Alfred's attention.

It looked like Ivan and his father were in the middle of a heated argument - or, to be more accurate, it looked like Ivan's father was going ballistic as he shoved the Russian teen against the side of the truck and practically started yelling right into his face. Ivan looked positively terrified, his purple eyes wide with fear as he stuttered out something that Alfred couldn't hear because of the window being closed. Despite Ivan having a couple of inches and - at least - a solid hundred pounds on his father, he looked like a mouse that had been cornered by a cat.

Before Alfred could see anything else, his father pulled out onto the road and started to drive off in the opposite direction.

* * *

Smash: This is in reference to the game series "Super Smash Bros.". There's Super Smash Bros. 64, Melee, and Brawl currently. Alfred plays Melee in this, because America is top in pro Melee gaming. Kiku, on the other hand, prefers Brawl, since the Japanese rock it with the newest addition to the series.

Alistair: This would be Scotland, Artie's big brother and main sibling tormentor.

Translations for this chapter:

Elder Brother: This was supposed to be in Japanese, but I forgot that this site doesn't work with those characters at all...

Vanya: Diminutive of Ivan

безмолвие: "Silence" in Russian


	3. Toad Sweat Isn't Sweet

Alfred groaned when his alarm woke him up, the blonde teen rolling over in bed so that he could fumble to turn it off.

He really didn't feel like getting up this morning, but Alfred knew he only had five minutes before Matthew started pounding on his wall for him to get up, and another five before their mother snuck into his room and switched his self-made radio on to max volume.

Letting out another loud groan, Alfred kicked out of his _Captain America_ bed sheets with an awkward and uncoordinated flail of his scrawny limbs. He laid in a crooked position for a little while, running his tongue over his braces until the pink mass of muscles bumped against the rubber-bands that were hooked into the metal abomination that was cemented onto his teeth.

Why couldn't it be a Saturday? That way, he wouldn't have to worry about school for a few days, and he could play video games with his friends all weekend...

And he also wouldn't have to think about being stuck with Braginski for the rest of the school year...At least for a little while. But, no! Today had to be a freakin' Tuesday!

Why was his life so fucked up?

"Alfred! Get up already, your breakfast is in the toaster!" came Matthew's thought-interrupting voice from the other side of the wall, a series of fast pounds on the wall rattling the action figure-laden shelves above Alfred's head.

"Alright!" Alfred yelled back in a whiny, drug-out tone. Mustering up the strength and ambition he needed, Alfred flopped out of bed and onto the carpeted floor with a muffled thump. Getting up and trudging to the door, he paused for a moment, his brain waking up enough to start thinking again.

_Braginski = Hockey. Mattie = Hockey. Teammates = Familiarity?_

"Hey, Matt, wait up! I have a question!" Alfred exclaimed, scrambling down the stairs after his step-brother.

So, as Alfred quickly stuffed a Peanut Butter Pop-Tart into his mouth, Matthew waited with slightly frustrated patience for the sandy blonde teen to ask his all-important question.

"So...You play hockey with Braginski, right, Matt?" Alfred asked through a mouthful of heated peanut butter and pastry, his question coming out garbled.

Matthew stared at his step-brother for a long moment. "I'm sorry to say that I understood every word of what you just spewed out there, eh," he sighed, shaking his head.

Alfred rolled his eyes, taking a large gulp of his milk. "Whatever. Can you at _least_ tell me how to survive dealing with him so I don't die?"

"Well," Matthew hummed out, sounding thoughtful, "When Ivan kept sitting on me during art class, and I couldn't get him to stop by simply asking him to, I started to leave out maple candies on the desk space next to me. After a little while, he stopped sitting on me in favor of getting the candy. Apparently, Ivan's got a major sweet-tooth, so if you ever feel like you're getting into dangerous territory with him, try to mellow him out with something sweet. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it worked for me, eh."

"Okay, first off: You're saying that you basically _trained_ him to not sit on you? And, second: He sat on you in art class? What the heck?! How are you not a cripple, or dead?!" Alfred blurted out, pushing his glasses further up onto his nose when they slipped down from his abrupt movement.

Matthew gave his brother a flat look. "And that's exactly the sort of thing that will end with his fist lodged in your face, Al. You don't have an internal filter, do you?" he muttered, sipping at his apple juice.

"Pfft, you know I don't," Alfred snorted, getting up from the dining room table to put his dirty dishes in the sink.

Matthew followed close behind, scrubbing off his own dishes, as well as Alfred's, and giving them a quick rinse before setting them in the dish drainer to dry. "Right, right..."

"Are you two almost ready? We've got ten minutes to spare before we need to head out!" Mrs. Jones called from the living room.

"Almost, Mom!" Alfred replied, pushing Matthew out of his way and racing back upstairs to change out of his PJ's. He tugged off his shirt just as he was entering his room, swearing when his glasses got caught in the soft material. After wrestling with his pajamas for close to three minutes, Alfred quickly searched through his drawers for something to wear; eventually, he settled on one of his _Legend of Zelda_ T-shirts, a pair of faded skinny jeans, and his slightly-too-big-for-his-feet sneakers.

Collecting his schoolbooks and several - overdue - homework assignments, Alfred shoved everything he would need into his backpack and sped downstairs once more, dropping his stuff onto the floor by the front door. Sprinting back upstairs to the bathroom, Alfred let out a frustrated huff when he arrived to see that the door was closed; Matthew's self-satisfied whistling could be heard through the door when Alfred pressed his ear to the whitewashed wood. Glancing down at his watch, Alfred brushed his fingers through his sandy blonde hair, deeming himself good enough to go without actually combing through it. Giving up on being able to get into the bathroom and stay on schedule, the bespectacled boy tromped downstairs and started fishing around in his backpack for some gum and the extra bottle of spray deodorant he kept in one of the inner pockets.

"Wow, you managed to get ready in only...six minutes. That _has_ to be a new record!" Mrs. Jones cheered, smiling exuberantly at her step-son.

"Hey, at least I don't take an hour and a half to shower, like Mattie," Alfred remarked, stuffing a strip of root-beer float flavored dental gum into his mouth. It tasted surprisingly good, and, since he hadn't had the time to brush his teeth, it was better than nothing. He'd wait until they got to One World High, and he could scuttle into a bathroom, before putting on his deodorant.

"I've got hockey practice, Al. Do you really want to eat dinner, sitting across from me, and smell my entire workout the whole time?" Matthew huffed, coming down the stairs with his own book bag. "When you have to join one of our school's teams and start playing a sport because of your punishment, I reserve the right to complain about how long you take in the shower after games or practices."

"Aw, fuck! I forgot about that," Alfred moaned pathetically, slapping his hands to his face.

"Get over yourself, Al," Matthew chuckled, heading out the door once their mother grabbed her car keys.

* * *

Ivan groggily woke up to a wet tongue licking his cheek, the beige haired teen groaning as he rolled over and rubbed at his face. "Laika*...What are you doing in here? You know Papa doesn't like you being in the house...," Ivan yawned out, picking up the dog from off himself and setting her on the floor.

The husky-terrier mix* wagged her tail at him, and let out a short bark.

Ivan stretched as he got up off the ratty couch he had slept on, wincing when the new bruises he had acquired from the previous night flared up with pain. He carefully edged past the ajar door on his way to the kitchen, knowing that his father was still asleep in the other room. He padded quietly into the small kitchen, which was situated at the back of the house, Laika trotting along behind at his heels.

Ivan stopped abruptly in the doorway, Laika swerving around his legs to avoid a collision.

"Hey, kid. You're up early," a smokey voice commented.

"Isn't it a little early for a drink?" Ivan muttered, keeping his distance from the red-headed woman as he stalked over to the loudly buzzing refrigerator for something to eat.

Knocking back the remainder of her whiskey, the older woman laughed, "And, maybe if you're a good boy, I'll share with you!"

Ivan grunted disinterestedly at the offer, grabbing a take-out container of Chinese food from a few days ago out of the fridge. "No, thanks, Ms. Summers," he replied in a drawling tone, kicking the refrigerator door shut as he went in search of a fork or a spoon.

"Please, call me Eloise*. You're so damned polite...it almost makes me sick, kid. You make me feel old when you call me Miss, like I'm some sort of _Grandma _or something," Ms. Summers griped disdainfully, fishing around in her leopard print handbag for her lighter and a cigarette.

_That's because you _**are**_ old enough to be someone's Grandmother..._, Ivan remarked to himself, shoveling a spoonful of cold pork fried rice into his mouth.

After an awkward yet pitifully familiar bout of silence between the two, Ivan sharing his leftovers with Laika as Ms. Summers puffed her way through her morning pack of smokes, the middle-aged woman asked, "So, are you taggin' along with me downtown again? I know your old man's busy doing...whatever the hell he does during most of the day...and I know he hates it when you wander around all on your own, just lookin' for trouble."

Ivan tossed the empty take-out box into the almost overflowing trash can - making a mental note to take it out and dump it next door when he got home; the neighbors were a bunch of crackheads, so they never really gave a flaming rat's ass about it - dropping the spoon he had used into the sink full of dirty water and other dishes. "I have school," he stated bluntly, opening the backdoor so that the dog could get outside.

Laika bolted out of the kitchen like she'd been shot out of a cannon, her claws clacking rapidly against the worn laminated floor.

"And?" Eloise hummed, blowing a plume of bitter smoke from her just lit cigarette in Ivan's direction. "You've skipped out before, so why are you playing the good little schoolboy now? C'mon, I'll take you to the pier! We can do a little dipping*, flick some cigs at the gulls, fun stuff!"

Ivan could never really figure out how he felt about this woman. When she wasn't around his father, she was usually enjoyable to be around; she was loud, rambunctious, and knew how to have fun with whatever situation she was presented with. But, when his father _was_ around...

"I have to go. I got the Principal breathing down my neck about almost punching out this arrogant, loudmouthed, know-it-all...," Ivan trailed off angrily, swiping at his cheek absent-mindedly. "Anyway...I'm in trouble, and if I don't show up, then I'll be in even more shit."

Taking another drag on her cigarette, Eloise smirked, "Bah, you wouldn't of punched that twerp out anyways, so why the hell are you in so much trouble?"

Ivan blinked, his mouth turning downward into a vague frown. "What do you mean, I wouldn't of punched him out?" he asked in a slightly defensive tone, folding his arms as he leaned up against the door frame and looked outside.

"Unlike your father, you're all bark and no bite," the woman replied, patting the teenager on the cheek as she joined him by the door. "You're too much of a sweetheart to do any real damage. You just play a little rough, is all. Most people don't understand that, but I've been around enough men to know how to tell the difference between an overenthusiastic love-tap, and a real _hit_."

Ivan watched for a silent moment as Ms. Summers blew a stream of smoke out into the air, the light breeze that was blowing catching it and drifting it off beyond the house. "I'm a lot more like my father than you think I am. I've hit people before, and I've hurt them because of it. How is that any different than what he does?" he muttered, pressing his cheek against the chipped door frame as he spoke.

"Because you only hit once, and never to such a degree that it would cause damage like _this_," she replied, nonchalantly lifting up his shirt to reveal the vivid purple bruises that littered his sides and middle. "You're not _anything_ like him."

Ivan quickly pushed his shirt down to hide the painful marks again, his round cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I, uh, I have to get going. I'm already late," he stuttered out, slipping past the older woman and hightailing it into the other room.

"Not like him at all," Eloise murmured, flicking her spent cigarette into the dirt.

* * *

Laika: Laika was one of the first animals sent into space, and orbited the Earth. She was never expected to survive, since the technology for de-orbit hadn't been developed yet and the effects of spaceflight on living creatures was still not known, and she tragically died several hours later from over-heating - which was caused by a malfunction in the mechanics. Her name means "Barker" in Russian, and she was believed to have been a husky-terrier mix. Obviously, this isn't the same dog, but I wanted a dog that was inspired by Laika in this story.

Eloise Summers: This is the personification of Summer, just like General Winter. Her name, Eloise, is sometimes associated with the Greek word "helios" (sun), which is why I chose it for her - even if there isn't a likely connection between the two, it was the only English name I could find that had anything to do with the sun.

Dipping: This, as I've been given to believe from my little bit of research, is a slang term that means to pickpocket. I don't know if that's correct, or even up-to-date.


End file.
